


The Feelings of Mutants

by In_love_with_writing002



Series: Geralt Whump Week 2020 [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Background Character Death, Flashback, Gen, Geralt Whump Week 2020, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Kaer Morhen, Mutant feels, Papa Vesemir, Sad bois, The Trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_love_with_writing002/pseuds/In_love_with_writing002
Summary: Lambert is struggling through the trials. Geralt attempts to help by telling him a story about his experience, and in general, it still hurts.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir
Series: Geralt Whump Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811620
Comments: 16
Kudos: 54





	The Feelings of Mutants

**Author's Note:**

> For Geralt Whump Week day 7!
> 
> Prompt: **Kaer Morhen**

“How is he?” Geralt saw Eskel leave the room wiping his sweaty hands on a rag. The other witcher shook his head.

“Miserable, overwhelmed. You remember.” Lambert was so young still, the mutations would be more painful than anything he had experienced in his life. Geralt’s lips turned down in sympathy. “Go see for yourself,” Eskel suggested. He stepped out of the doorway and Geralt took his place, stepping into the isolated room where Lambert was curled on a bed. He looked even smaller than usual.

“Go away,” said a small, weak voice. Geralt’s heart sank. He wasn’t going to leave Lambert like this, not when the boy had lost so many of his friends to the mutagens. Geralt was lucky to still have Eskel around after the trials.

“I’m not here to talk with you,” Geralt said, sitting at the edge of the bed. Lambert had a pillow pulled over his face, but Geralt could see the glint of his eyes underneath it. The day before, they had been brown, and now they were a bright amber. “But I’ll tell you a story, if you want it.”

Silence.

“Well?” Lambert said. “Get on with it.” It was good to hear that he still had his attitude. Geralt sighed and shifted his weight.

“When I was at the same point you were, going through the mutations, I could hardly deal with the pain.” Geralt propped himself back on his hands. “I remember I used to cry until I was dehydrated, and then I would whine and shake in my bed.”

Lambert remained silent, so Geralt took it as a sign to continue. Geralt didn’t like to revisit his past a lot, he tried to keep his thoughts on the future, the upcoming season, the Path ahead— but Lambert really seemed like he could use the story, have a chat. Even if he was a brat, Geralt had grown attached, and hoped he would come out of it okay.

So he revisited his past.

_ Geralt wished he could stop crying, because his tears and hiccuping sobs had grown annoying to everyone, including himself. He hated feeling like he was putting himself over everyone else, felt like the other boys stared at him, sniffling and covering his too-sensitive ears, and thought him nothing but an annoyance. He was stronger than that. But the tears just kept coming. _

_ The pain was like nothing he’d ever felt before, like his body was being meticulously and methodically destroyed before being put back together, but leaving his brain no chance to recover, the pain lingering long past what the mutations affected. If it was just pain, maybe Geralt could have handled it, but hearing other boys suffering around him, some not suffering any more but in a place that was worse, Geralt wanted it all to be  _ **_done_ ** _. _

_ “Geralt,” whispered a soft voice, one that he’d heard several times over the past few weeks. Eskel was another boy in training, and they’d struck up a rapid friendship. Geralt hoped to all the gods he knew of that if anyone was going to survive the trials with him, it’d be Eskel. “Do you want me to lay with you?” _

_ Geralt felt a lump in his throat, and he looked at Eskel, blurred through oncoming tears. He couldn’t talk unless it was a sob, so he pulled the scratchy blanket down and moved so Eskel could slide in beside him. _

_ “Your eyes are different,” Eskel commented. “Yellow. I think that’s a good sign that you’re coming through.” It was a comforting lie, but a lie nonetheless. Geralt felt Eskel slide closer and wrap his arms around him. He’d grown taller over the month, now nearly a whole head over Geralt, though they both still had growing to do. Geralt didn’t think he would outgrow Eskel, but maybe they’d be close before the year ended. He shuffled closer, seeking comfort in Eskel’s touch. “Vesemir’s coming,” Eskel said abruptly, suddenly tense. Geralt grit his teeth, clutching Eskel’s hands closer. He wasn’t willing to let this go. _

_ “Fuck ‘im,” Geralt swore. The pain was so intense, nothing Vesemir could do could hurt any worse. He’d take the sting of the leather strap over the agony he was going through. _

_ “Eskel,” called Vesemir’s voice. It held a questioning tone to it. _

_ “Here,” Eskel responded. _

_ “Fabian,” Vesemir said. Fabian was another boy in their group, who was strong, showed more promise than many of them, according to the old men in the keep. But there was no answer when Vesemir called out. “Fabian?” more clearly a question. Still no response. “Eskel, is he asleep?” _

_ Geralt clenched his fist tighter on his pillow. _

_ “I don’t know.” _

_ Vesemir’s footsteps came further into the room. “Fabian,” he said, urgently. Silence fell. Vesemir sighed. Geralt’s heart sank. “Not sleeping.” Vesemir walked closer, and Geralt knew at that point he must have been right next to the bed. “Geralt?” _

_ “Here,” He said quietly after a moment, choked by grief. _

_ “You’re sharing a bed?” Vesemir’s voice sounded only slightly chiding, mostly flat as usual. Geralt wasn’t expecting the hand that settled on his head, rubbing gently. Eskel behind him relaxed minutely. “I’m sorry, boys.” The honest, open sadness was readable, and for a second, Geralt couldn’t think of him as an angry, cruel man but a saddened father, and when Geralt’s chest twinged in sympathy, he realized that  _ **_none_ ** _ of them had it easy. Geralt and Eskel had to watch boys die every day, but Vesemir was the one who buried them. _

_ “Vesemir, it’s…” Eskel started to say, his head lifting from Geralt’s shoulder. “We’re okay,” he said, voice faint again. “It just hurts.” _

_ “I know,” Vesemir sighed. “Gods, I know.” And Geralt let himself cry again. _

“That was a shit story,” Lambert said, sniffling. Geralt felt the corners of his lips tug up.

“Sure, but you know what happened next?” He shifted closer to Lambert and he let Geralt lay down, though Geralt took up most of the space. Lambert sniffed again, and Geralt saw his eyes were filled with tears.

“Vesemir laid with Eskel and me, just like this,” and Geralt rested his hand on Lambert’s head, dragging his thumb over his cheek. “And he told us stories until we fell asleep. I don’t remember much else about the next few days, but that night, Vesemir really seemed like one of us. Scared, hurting little boys.”

“I don’t like him much,” Lambert grumbled, though he didn’t shake off Geralt’s touch.

“He grows on you,” Geralt assured. “The pain though, it… doesn’t.” Lambert turned his face into Geralt’s hand.

“Do you think I’ll live?” Lambert asked, his voice soft. Geralt felt a twinge in his chest, an echo of the grief he felt for all his fallen friends. “Really.”

“I don’t know,” Geralt admitted. “I really don’t know.”


End file.
